Kamikaze Cuckoo Bird
by TheHauntress
Summary: Akito, little bird. Falling from the nest. He pushed himself.


A long, pale hand danced over its shadow, moving with grace to the window and extending one frail finger into the air under the starlit sky. The bony fingers waited there, still as death and protruding from the soft purple lining of a robe. The purple ran under a warm pink, wrapping the frail, sickly body and it's white under robe as well. Black hair fell over a face, cut long on the sides and with rather long bangs. The black-grey eyes beneath the bangs were half-lidded, patiently staring at the hand. The thin, pale lips were open on the face and soft, weezing breaths escaped them.

A small, white bird approached, it's wings tucking in as it landed. It's tiny, yellow feet wrapped around the extended finger and it chirped fleetingly. A smile broke the still lips and the hand slowly moved back to the face. The eyes, burning, gazed at the small creature perched on their hand.

Akito turned to the empty room, his robe dragging on the floor at his feet. His pink robe was falling off of his shoulder. He didn't care. He moved the bird closer and kissed it's tiny, golden beak. The lips barely graced the bird. He moved it slightly farther away, extending it to arms' length, back out of the open window and out into the cold, crisp night air. Twittering once, it jumped off and spread it's wings. It flapped them, hitting the air and flying away.

The cold, black eyes never gazed after it. They stared at the tatami mats under his feet. He wished to fly, but fell instead. Pushing himself from his own nest.

Slowly, Akito lowered his arm back to his side, then turned to his seat. He sat back down and leaned against the wall, his legs up. His head turned to one side and he stared at the wall. It hurt to dream. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to scream and even to speak. It hurt just being alive. A smirk appeared, coupled with a soft, "hmph." Akito turned his head more, his forehead against the wall, and closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep. It hurt to sleep.

But he would sleep and he would dream. He would breathe and speak. Perhaps even scream. He would hurt. He would hurt until the day he died.

-

The next day, Hatori stood outside of the door he knew far too well. Closing his green eyes and taking a deep breath, he raised his fist and knocked on the door gently. Akito awoke instantly, but didn't move. He didn't need to.

"Come in," he spoke, enough to be heard. The door slid open with a soft shhhhhh and Hatori stepped inside. He had his briefcase and was dressed in the usual vest, slacks, and white doctor's coat. He closed the door behind him. Shhhhh. He walked towards Akito and set the briefcase down. Taking to his knees, he bowed his head respectfully for a moment. Akito's head slowly turned, his eyes now cracked open slightly. He stared down at him, distaste making his mouth sick. He blinked apathetically. Hatori raised his head, opening his eyes.

"How are you feeling today, Akito?" He asked, his professionalism and respect being his voice. Akito didn't answer. He never did, nor did he have to. He just stared down at him with those unfeeling eyes, waiting for something to slip out of his mouth and cut Hari's throat. It didn't come.

Hatori nodded at his silence, knowing it as well as the door, and opened his briefcase. He pulled out his stethoscope and put the earpieces in his ears. Sitting up on his knees, he lifted the cold, metal pad and slid it under Akito's robe and over the place where his heart should be. The metal made his breathing icier and his breath became coarse and audible. But he didn't make a move. Hatori listened to his heartbeat for a moment, then removed the stethoscope, placing it around his neck. He reached into the briefcase again, pulling out a needle and an anti-septic wipe. The syringe was already pumped to the dosage of downers Akito required, for his heart was beating far too fast. He took Akito's limp arm and turned it to the inside. A soft bruise mark was there from the last time Akito had gotten angry and tore the syringe out himself. Hari avoided this spot when carefully inserting the needle into the crook of his elbow. He had wiped the area with the anti-septic carefully. Akito didn't move, nor make a sound. He just stared down at Hatori.

The end of the syringe was pushed down and Akito felt his heart slow in his chest. What a terrible feeling it was. Hatori removed the needle and capped it off to be discarded, along with the anti-septic wipe. He replaced them in the briefcase. Sitting up, he put his stethoscope back on and put a hand on Akito's chest. Akito didn't move. Hari pressed the pad of the stethoscope to his back, below his right shoulderblade. It was cold and Akito could feel it under both layers of cloth. He moved it under the left shoulderblade after a moment. It was still icy. Hatori removed the stethoscope and put it back around his neck. Gently, he felt under Akito's jaw on his neck and below his armpits. No swollen glands today.

Hatori took off the stethoscope and put it in the briefcase neatly. He returned to sitting on his knees and bowed his head again. Akito did nothing. Raising his head, but not looking at Akito, Hatori stood, picking up his briefcase. He turned, walked to the door, and opened it. Shhhhh. He stepped out and closed the door. Shhhhhh.

Akito didn't say a word. 


End file.
